


You Have A Halo

by lib_erated



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Trevor is a real person with a backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 15:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13367433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lib_erated/pseuds/lib_erated
Summary: Lip hasn’t dealt with the guy much after the ‘lady parts’ incident, doesn’t know anything about him really, but he’d be willing to bet that the door slam he heard through the phone and the clinking keys are Trevor leaving as fast as he can. In the opposite direction from Gallagher crazy.“I’ll be there in thirty.”





	You Have A Halo

**Author's Note:**

> Based loosely on a video of Trevor's actor singing "Halo" by Lewis Watson.

The house is coming down around his ears. Lip jerks awake, hand reaching for the noise, he can’t see anything – what time is it – but fingers bump the phone on the pillow next him. Adrenaline funneling off, he realizes it’s ringing in his hand. He slides a thumb across the screen, automatically swinging his feet off the bed and reaching for the cold cigarette stub half-smoked in the tray next to the alarm clock.

A strained, furious voice echoes through speaker, “Hey, look, I know he’s pissed at me alright but could you fuckin’ –“

“Who the fuck is this? It’s fuckin’ five AM, what the hell is your probl –“ Lip is instantly furious, fist clenching against his thigh.

“It’s Trevor. I get it, I know he thinks I don’t care, but he hasn’t answered any of my goddamn texts or calls, I need to know if he’s dead or fucked off again to God knows where – I got your number from his phone a while ago, Lip can you just –“

“Jesus, alright, alright. He’s fine. He’s just...Look. You know he takes meds?” His voice is unsure. How much has Ian told him? Before he can think much more about it, Trevor’s voice crackles through the phone, shuffling papers in the background.

“Did he stop taking them? Is he at the hospital? Which one, I’m leaving now.”

Lip backtracks as quickly as he can. “No, fuck. They’re just not working right, it happens I guess. Shit I don’t know. He’s been…We’re watching him. Fiona’s with him. You don’t have to –“

“Is he at the house?” Utter stillness on the other end. Lip can hear his breath catch a little.

“…Yeah, man,” he says. Lip hasn’t dealt with the guy much after the ‘lady parts’ incident, doesn’t know anything about him really, but he’d be willing to bet that the door slam he heard through the phone and the clinking keys are Trevor leaving as fast as he can. In the opposite direction from Gallagher crazy.

“I’ll be there in thirty.”  
…

Twenty minutes later, Lip gets up from the living room floor by Fiona and answers the curt knock at the door. He’d barely had enough time to throw on clothes, make fresh coffee, and drop two mugs down just before. He’s early, Lip thinks, before his eyes actually take in the scene Trevor makes in front of him. 

His curly hair is sticking up in an impossible number of directions, and under it are steady brown eyes. The dark circles under them pull downwards to a wrenched mouth, halfway open in greeting.

“Sorry dude, I know it’s a lot,” Trevor shrugs, pushing past Lip with a huge backpack and what looks like a guitar case, covered in an eye-offending mix of rainbow, graphic carrying stickers and heavy black marks. “It’s just starting to get cold out and I can’t leave it in the car, the doors don’t ever seal right, I’ll just put it here.” 

Lip watches helplessly as Trevor pushes the bags against the wall between the door and stairs, maneuvers around the couch, and stops short at the sight of Fiona huddled against the back of the couch, eyes moving hesitantly from Trevor, to Lip, to the crawlspace under the stairs. 

“Where’s –“ Trevor starts, voice suddenly hesitant.

Fiona clears her throat and says, gently, “Here.” She glances at Lip once more, before patting the space next to her. “He, um…he hasn’t moved for a while.”

As Lip rounds the couch he tries to see with fresh eyes what Trevor must be seeing. Across from where Fiona has set up watch, the old blue curtain hangs in tatters, barely covering the space under the stairs. Just visible in the shadow is the curve of a broad shoulder, glinting early morning sunlight off a patch of red hair.

Lip feels nauseous again, just as he had the night before when he had come home to find Debbie crying where Fiona is now. Carl had been in the kitchen, white knuckles clutching an empty glass, staring at a well-scrubbed corner of the kitchen. Lip had called Fiona, barely managing to grind out, “He’s under the stairs, he won’t talk,” before he heard her car starting and shouted excuses to the staff at the diner. 

None of them can get the transposed image of Monica under the stairs out of their heads.

Trevor’s slow movements pull him back to the present. He’s sitting down, leaning against the side of crawlspace, gaze locked onto the back of Ian’s head. His head is cocked a little, listening to Fiona explain.

“It’s called catatonia. The doctors explained it to us before,” her voice cracks a little. She takes a sip of the mug Lip had brought her earlier. He joins her against the couch as she clears her throat again. “It’s a depressive episode. He isn’t responding to us, or anything. It’s like he’s locked in there. I got him to take his meds this morning and I gave him an extra anti-depressant. When he starts moving again, we’ll take him to the doctor.”

Lip offers her a small smile. She looks wrecked, he thinks, with her pale face framed by frizzy hair. She had taken Lip’s place watching him around midnight, trading off with him in near silence. Carl and Debbie had gone to bed earlier, made sure Liam was fed and homework done. They had also taken all the knives up with them, locked in Debbie’s welding kit.

Trevor shifts his gaze from Ian to Lip. “Yeah, I get it. We had to do a primer at the center on mental illness,” he trails off, looks again at Ian. “Has this…has this happened before?”

“Yeah,” Lip volunteers. “Once, right after his first manic episode. He wasn’t on meds then, though.” He feels the urge to reassure Trevor, and pushes it down. They all get to deal with this like grownups, and if he can’t then he can get lost, he thinks.

Trevor’s eyes narrow at the corners, and he can see his shoulders tense. “I’d like to stay here with him. If you don’t mind,” he says, challenge evident in his voice.

Fiona seems too tired to do anything but nod and offer a grateful smile. “I’d appreciate it. It’ll make things a bit easier.” She glances down at her watch and sighs. “I’m gonna grab a shower, and then I’ll be back down. Maybe I’ll make eggs?”

Lip shrugs, focuses on his coffee. He knows, just as Fiona does, that the slightly raised voice on her question will have no impact on Ian, won’t get him to come out and eat. He finds himself disappointed anyway when he hears nothing behind the small curtain. Trevor shifts a little, stretching out, murmuring something in response.

Lip looks back up, catches Trevor’s eyes and takes in the considering look on his face before he glances away and to his phone, which is buzzing slightly. The two of them sit in silence, interrupted only by the muted tapping of Trevor’s fingertips against his screen. Lip takes in the familiar noises of the house beginning to wake around him, sipping from his mug. At one point, Trevor goes into the kitchen to grab a mug of his own, and the fresh scent that follows him back in heralding a new pot.

Just as he’s settling back down against the crawlspace wall, Lip sees Fiona coming down the steps. She seems a little lost and sad, the corner of her mouth turned down as she takes in the two of them there. Nevertheless, she steps determinedly over Lip’s legs on her way to the kitchen, calling out to the youngest three kids on the way.

“I’m making eggs! If you’re not down here in 20 you get cold cereal, no milk. Liam, you hear me?” General groaned responses are heard from the floor above. 

Trevor chuckles a little, eyes finding Lip again. His shoulders relax a bit. “Reminds me of my kids at the center.”

“They wake up late?” Lip offers. He’s curious. Ian almost never talked about what Trevor actually does.

“They don’t actually stay at the center,” he explains, hands fidgeting around the mug. “But anytime you need something, I swear it’s like they forget all their words. I speak about two different languages worth of teenage groans.”

Lip softens a little despite himself. He says, “That’s every day around here. If it’s not Carl, it’s Liam, and it’s always Debbie.”

Trevor huffs out a quiet laugh into the sun-brightened room, hands stilling. A small, breathy noise from behind the curtain is almost lost in the sound of Gallaghers shouting about the bathroom upstairs.  
…

A little while later, breakfast cooked and served in the kitchen, Fiona tops off all three mugs and settles in again against the couch after pulling a couple cushions down for them to sit on. Debbie had mentioned a study group, said she’d be back in a couple hours, and Carl had taken Fiona’s car for ‘work’ and dropped Liam off at school.

Lip is playing with a new game on his phone – one of the guys at the meetings suggested it, said it was ‘addictive’ with a hearty laugh. Alcoholic black humor, he called it. He tunes out most of the conversation going on beside him. Fiona’s been asking Trevor questions, clearly curious about him in lieu of actual information from Ian. 

Several times, Trevor jumps up and answers a call, walking into the kitchen to talk.

“Hey, man. Did you get my email about…No I didn’t see that. When is it available? What do you need? I can have Stef bring it to you. It needs to be faxed? Okay, what number? Yeah, let me call her. How many days supply of his medication does he need? Can he bring his phone with him? No, I don’t…”

“She did what. Are you fuckin’…okay. Has she been evaluated at the court clinic yet? She’s a minor…In adult court? Is this judge high? Okay. I can have Stef send her stuff over, does she have a PD yet? No, I’m out of the office until further notice, but you can call my phone.”

“Okay, I need you to take a couple deep breaths. Listen to me, you are safe. You are not in danger. They cannot get to you at the shelter. Can you get to a staff member? Good, you’re doing great. Tell me your safety plan again. Again.”

Eventually, he comes back into the room, rubbing a hand over his face. He gratefully accepts another pillow from Fiona, and settles down with it behind his head.

“What is it you actually do?” Fiona asks, curious.

“Well,” he considers, “My job title is technically social worker, but it’s really case management. Kids come to the center looking for resources, and I provide them. I make sure that they get connected to what they need, for housing, medication, food, whatever. Sometimes it’s short term and easy, like if a trans kid with family support needs counseling for hormones, that’s just a referral. Sometimes kids come in with nothing and no one, and then I do whatever I can to keep them alive.”

Fiona trades a look with Lip. Social worker has never meant anything good for them. Trevor sees it and, to his credit, guesses correctly what they’re thinking.

“It’s not…it’s not like the child social workers for the county,” he hesitates, thinking through his next words. “I don’t have any power, really. I can’t take kids from homes or put them in new ones. I can just connect them where I can and try to take care of them. I have to report abuse, just like any professional, but that’s it.”

He leans forward, looking at the ground. “I, um. I got into it by accident, really. I had a lot of time, the last couple years of high school. I spent a lot of time in the hospital.” Trevor hesitates here, looking intently at first Lip, then Fiona. It seems like he finds what he’s looking for because he nods, leans back and continues.

“I wasn’t in a good place then. I realized I was trans, and I hated it. I hated everything, really. I was pretty depressed. I couldn’t get how terrible everything was out of my head. I don’t know how to explain it. I guess…do you guys know what gender dysphoria is?”

“Discomfort due to a difference in gender identity and gender assigned at birth,” Lip offers automatically, caught up in the story. At the surprised looks on Trevor’s and Fiona’s faces, he continues defensively, “I looked it up. After, you know. That day? I don’t like not knowing things.”

Fiona puts her hand on his bicep, a fond smile across her lips. Trevor looks a little off balance, but continues. 

“Right. It’s called gender identity disorder too, but there’s some argument over it being labeled that way. I was really uncomfortable with everything about my body. My parents were trying to deal with it. They loved me, love me present tense I guess, but they didn’t get it then.”  
A long pause, where none of them move, almost afraid to break the silence. Trevor swallows audibly and starts again. “Anyway, I had time. I tried to kill myself a couple times. I spent a lot of time in the hospital before they agreed to let me start hormone therapy. Then I had surgery, so. Well, lots of bed rest for all of it. I finished all my high school curriculum about a year early.”

Some of Lip’s surprise must show on his face, because Trevor looks at him and snickers. He’s more relaxed now. “I used to be a pretty smart kid. I started taking community college classes online. I finished most of the core classes by the time I should have started. Almost enough for an associate’s degree.”

He glances down at his phone again, two taps on the screen, then back up again. Fiona is leaning forward, eyes glued on Trevor, and an unconsciously gentle look on her face. Lip recognizes it from years ago, from when he was little and was so excited to share his day with someone. He’d come home, ready to babble at Frank or Monica, and found instead the steady warmth of Fiona, who would then crack jokes until he forgot what it was he wanted to tell them.

When Trevor looked up from his phone, Lip asked, “So, did you finish your associates then?” He was curious, but also a little uncomfortable. A small pit burned in his gut, a familiar jealousy whenever he thought of school.

“No, I actually switched to a four-year program nearby, at a state school. I applied it all to a bachelor’s.” He paused, sipped from his mug. His eyes seemed unfocused, far away. “I got my degree in social work, but you can’t get licensed or anything with just that. I would have kept going, but my name change paperwork came through, and after I was healed and everything…I thought it might be for the best if I took some time to get away from my family, and go where no one knew me. Before.”

A loaded silence descended on the room, not uncomfortable, but Lip couldn’t bring himself to break it. A couple minutes later, the front door opened and Debbie could be heard dragging her gear in. She was muttering to herself as she flopped down across from Trevor on the other side of the crawlspace. She fidgeted around, getting comfortable, clearly unaware of any silence that may have rested in the room moments before. After a moment, she let out a gusty sigh as she glanced at the bags by the door. 

“Whose guitar is that?” she demanded, blunt as usual.

Trevor seemed unaffected, saying brightly, “Oh, mine. I just got it back from a friend and I couldn’t leave it in my car.”

“Do you play? Can you play something now?” Debbie was instantly excited.

“Debs,” Fiona tried, her tone admonishing.

“I don’t mind,” Trevor smiled. He grabbed the corner of the case and tugged it over to him. After a little fidgeting, he had it comfortably seated on his lap. He tuned it carefully, and when he was done, strummed it a few times. He looked up at Debbie and over to Fiona and Lip.

“Any specific requests?”

“Nah, just play something pretty,” Debbie flopped to her side, propping herself up on her hands. She glanced into the crawlspace every few minutes or so, a pinched line visible between her brows.

Trevor seemed to consider that for a moment, hands hovering over the strings, before straightening up again, a small sarcastic grin playing at his lips. His crooked smile, somehow empty, focused on Debbie. He hummed, cleared his throat, and began. It was slow, but his hands never hesitated on the frets. 

“Maybe you're lost  
Maybe you're scared  
Maybe you're lonely  
Or you haven't got there yet

You're falling apart  
Come away at the seams  
Even when you're wide awake  
You're drowning in your dreams,”

His voice cracked at the last line. Lip saw him duck his head, smile disappeared. After the first couple lines, Lip recognized the tune, and saw that Fiona had as well by the tears welling up in her eyes.

“It's a wonder you don't know, how wonderful you are  
So maybe I should show you now

That you have a halo  
You have a halo  
You have a halo, but maybe you don't know.”

Lip found it hard to keep looking at him, feeling something heady and powerful drifting off his face, the sounds of his voice and the guitar pulling the pit in Lip’s gut upward, burning and choking him. His eyes were prickling at the edges. Trevor was steady now, his eyes trained on the empty space beside him.

“What is the use of just giving in?  
You know that if you keep this up you'll be more scars than skin  
Maybe once in a while I could help you  
Because they say a problem shared is a problem cut in two

It's a wonder you don't know, how wonderful you are  
So maybe I should show you now

That you have a halo  
You have a halo  
You have a halo but maybe you don't know.”

The sudden quiet after the last lines seemed alive somehow. Lip’s head weighed on his shoulders, and he breathed deeply, trying to settle himself. He heard a quick intake of breath beside him, and glanced at Fiona, only to see her covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide and staring across the floor.

He looked over, took in Debbie wiping her face, and saw immediately what had caught Fiona’s attention. A long, pale arm was stretched out from under the curtain, and perched tenderly on Trevor’s knee, under the neck of the guitar. Trevor’s smile was blinding.

The collective relief was palpable in the air. It was like someone had finally opened the windows, and as Monica’s ghost and Ian’s darkness temporarily dissipated, hope had entered.  
...


End file.
